


Green is the Color of Fear

by nerdytheatercos



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Ghost, Death By Potato, Derealization, Don't say that or I will cry, Dream Smp, DreamSMP spoilers, GhostInnit - Fan Theory, GhostInnit - Not Canon, Ghostbur - Canon, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this at 1am because I couldn't sleep, I'm so sorry, MCYT Lore, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Minecraft, Murder, Owie, Panic Attack, Panic Attacks, PogChamp, RIP TommyInnit, The InBetween - Freeform, Tommy deserves better, Vomit, We're like ghost brothers, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, canon lives, dreamsmp lore, tw for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytheatercos/pseuds/nerdytheatercos
Summary: He swore the last thing he saw was green.Green.The color of vomit. That’s what it made him feel like doing, at least. All green did to him was disgust and fill him with anguish. But green was also a gentle, strong, life-giving color if it was in a certain shade. One that was full of love and light, and protection and a great fortune. Only in a certain shade, though…
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 94





	Green is the Color of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey, I'M BACK !!! Long time no see.
> 
> The DreamSMP is my newest hyperfixation and after Tommy's recent stream, I just had to write about what happened afterwards.
> 
> SPOILER WARNINGS FOR THE NEWEST DREAMSMP STREAMS!!!  
> TW FOR MENTIONS OF DEATH/VIOLENCE, VOMIT, DEREALIZATION, MURDER, PANIC ATTACKS, AND SWEARING !!
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy... and no, I'm not a Dream apologist, I'm a Tommy one *sobs*

Falling.

He felt as if he was falling

Falling into a deep, dark pit. He was airborne, so to speak. Flying, but falling. No wings to take him up or catch him, no soft landing, no end in sight.

And he was screaming. No sound was coming from his throat, but he was screaming. Or at least it was an attempt due to the lack of noise. He felt hopeless. Were his eyes closed? Why couldn’t he see?

There was a great immense pain pounding in his head as well. Why was that? And why was he crying? He never cried. He was too strong to cry; he was the big man. The big strong man. He knew crying was for _pussies_ and pussies alone. Well, his best friend was the only exception. He wasn’t a pussy. Speaking of, where was Tubbo?

He swore the last thing he saw was green.

_Green._

The color of vomit. That’s what it made him feel like doing, at least. All green did to him was disgust and fill him with anguish. But green was also a gentle, strong, life-giving color if it was in a certain shade. One that was full of love and light, and protection and a great fortune. Only in a certain shade, though…

He shivered. Was he shivering? It was so cold, but there was warmth around him as well. Why couldn’t he see either? Why was it still dark…

_How long have I been here?_

Without warning, the darkness quickly shined into a bright white. It caught him off guard, so he flinched and squeezed his eyes even more shut than they were before. Turns out his eyes were closed the entire time he was … falling.

He still didn’t know if he had been falling. Or what that even was, to begin with. He stretched out his hands, feeling ground beneath his fingertips. Okay… maybe he wasn’t falling.

Or maybe he was just sleeping? People tend to fall when they were asleep. Yeah, maybe that was it.

He finally opened his eyes, finding himself in a bright white and cream… corridor? It looked to be a castle. He stood on shaky legs and brushed the dirt off his pants and shirt. His head was still pounding, but he chose to ignore the pain and curiously wander down the corridor he’d found himself in.

_This definitely isn’t somewhere I’ve been before._ He thought to himself in a fragmented statement. His mind still hasn’t comprehended forming words with his lips, so he just thought to himself for now. He wanted to call out to someone, ANYONE, to ask where the hell he was. He wanted to cry and scream. He was _terrified._

Turning the corner of the end of the corridor, he saw what appeared to be a very large tree. It was… odd to him, seeing some form of life within this strange new area.

Green. There was that color again on the leaves. He shivered a bit but remembered that green usually meant life. Maybe he was alive.

Wait, was he _dead?_ No, no, he couldn’t think about that right now. He had to get to the bottom of this.

In front of the tree appeared to be a jukebox. He scoffed. What a waste of time those were. He knew jukeboxes well. Especially in accordance with discs. One purple checkered one and the other…

Green.

Not that fucking color again. He sighed quietly, looking to the two swings and bench that were on either side of the jukebox. On one of the swings sat a quiet person, slowly swinging themselves and humming softly.

He knew that song well… he sang it with his best buds all the time. Still did from time to time when there were certain anniversaries.

The humming from the man slowly turned into soft, velvety singing. The man’s observer slowly slid down the pillar he was peering from behind and listened to the voice carry through the hallway:

_I heard there was a special place,_

_Where men could go and emancipate_

_The brutality, and the tyranny of their rulers._

_Well, this place is real, you needn’t fret,_

_With Wilbur, Tom…_

The voice cut himself off, catching its listener off guard. Footsteps began to echo in the area and they seemed to proceed closer towards the bystander. They then stopped. He held his breath as if to seem he wasn’t there.

“Hello.” The velvet singer’s voice sounded raspy and tired. Like they’ve been screaming at another person for many hours and lost their voice because of it.

He looked up from his place with terrified eyes, but then, he noticed who it was. He gasped. The singer did as well.

“What are you doing here?” The singer questioned, quite alarmed by the boy’s presence.

“W-Wilbur…” his voice concocted. It was also quite raspy. Probably because he was trying to scream for so long. Or maybe he was.

“W…” The supposed Wilbur couldn’t comprehend what was in front of him, “I… how are you here? Why are you here? You can’t…”

The boy shrugged, bit his lip, and leaped forward into Wilbur’s arms, hugging him tightly. He was half expecting to receive something in return, but he couldn’t care. He seemed to have missed this Wilbur. But he couldn’t remember as to why.

With mild hesitation, Wilbur’s shaky arms huddled around Tommy and he then planted his head on the boy’s shoulder. How he’d missed the little twerp. But he slowly pulled away, taking the boy’s face into the palms of his hands.

“You can’t be here.” He said assertively, yet gently.

“Why not? You’re here.” The boy responded.

Wilbur hesitated again, trying his best not to state the obvious about why his listener couldn’t be here. Why there was no reason for him to be in his presence. But he mumbled, “because it wasn’t your time yet.”

The boy was taken aback and he shrank out of Wilbur’s gentle touch. Confused, he said, “my time for… what?”

“Are you serious?” asked Wilbur, baffled, “you’re dead. You can’t be dead. It wasn’t your time to die yet. You weren’t supposed to die, Tommy.”

_Die? He was… he was…_

_He **was** dead._

And who the hell was Tommy? Was that…

He was Tommy… wasn’t he.

It would appear to be that was the case.

His slow breathing began to pick up and he was slowly gripping his hair. Wilbur began to freak out and exclaim at him but yelling only made it worse. He put his hands over his ears and let out a sob. There was no way in hell that he was fucking dead.

After multiple minutes, he threw up. The stress and anxiety of this situation were getting to be too much. He was then dry heaving, but Wilbur stopped him, took him into his arms, and rocked him back in forth as if he was a rocking chair and Tommy was its occupant.

Wilbur was singing to him now, but Tommy couldn’t hear it. He was staring at the pool of his own vomit. How embarrassing. How embarrassing it was for him to do this. He hated himself now even more than before, but he didn’t speak a word. The boy curled into Wilbur’s arms, sobs overtaking him.

Green is the color of vomit.

Green is the color of fear.

Tommy was _terrified._

And Tommy wanted the fear to _stop._

**Author's Note:**

> Haha I cried while writing this goodbye :,)


End file.
